


Losing Control Prologue

by MeltyBear



Series: Losing Control [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Frustration, M/M, homophobia mentions, masturbation mentions, mild depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:05:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3023582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltyBear/pseuds/MeltyBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian is used to pretending, and nobody ever seems to notice. He's shocked at how easily just a few jokes can break down his act, making him worried that he'll lose control of himself again, and fall for the wrong type of man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing Control Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is only the beginning! I know, it's short. Please bear with me!
> 
> This story isn't about smut so much as it is about affection and working through issues. Inspired by how Iron Bull treats the Inquisitor in canon, which is to say, more worried about what they need than his own needs.
> 
> Edit 12/31/14: Edited a few typos and added proper italics.

_You know men like him. You know so many men like him..._ The Tevinter mage's body quivered at the thought, the gentle sound of his evening fire almost lost behind his ragged and struggling breaths. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he worked at himself in the eerily quiet bedroom, the soft whisper of sheets vanishing into the cold night air.

_There are so many men like him, so bad for you, shouldn't. Couldn't. No, never..._ Dorian couldn't help but curse at himself, at his mind, giving up his pathetic and aggressive self-molestation as his mind chastised him. He figured it was well enough, anyway. Any more struggling strokes and he'd probably start a fire. 

The other side of the bed felt cool against his hot skin, and the sound of his own correcting voice echoed in the silence of his quarters. "And men like him never fit well with you, now do they?" The mage had not had the best history with men, to say the least. Living a secret life in Tevinter was not easy, and a man of his importance had to be particularly careful. Even being careful, the simple act of loving someone left him out of control. And his lovers took control, using his forbidden adoration to control him, to do whatever they wanted. The wrong words would give them leverage, so imagine what a lusty night would give them. He'd be ruined... Of course, that was when he cared about his image in Tevinter. Dorian simply despised having control taken from him, and his relationships had all ended with him struggling to get control of his life again and cursing the men who had stolen it from him. He had learned that lesson enough times. No men like Bull. No more men like him.  
  
  
\-----  
  
Dorian said it to himself almost constantly now-a-days, cutting his own thoughts off whenever he saw Iron Bull. The brute was entirely Dorian's style, just his type. And, as much as he hated to admit it, the lighthearted way in which Bull joked about sex fascinated him. He wished he could have such a light view of sex. He wished he could joke openly, cut loose, experiment. He wished he could just have fun. But Dorian wasn't so good at that sort of thing, really. He was a good actor. He had done it most of his life, after all. Pretended, acted. Fooled... But he wasn't good at honest fun.

So he acted. He was never the real Dorian, always a fake. A fictional version of himself, the way he wanted to be. The fake Dorian was handsome and strong, thought so highly of himself and ... was simply better than everyone else. The real Dorian? Not so much. WIth this acting, though, he managed his life so well with everyone. Except that Iron Bull. Bull always seemed to know it was an act, and those innuendo-laden jokes of his cut right through Dorian's defenses like a hot knife through butter.  
A loud thump on the wooden tavern table in front of him snapped him out of his negative spiral, and Dorian nodded his head up as one of the Bull's Chargers sat at the same table, kind enough to bring him a drink. Dorian rarely drank, he so hated to have control taken away from him. Still, though, he must keep up appearances! Always keep up appearances, so he accepted the drink kindly. Besides, who went to a tavern and didn't drink something?

"The Tavern's not the best place to go to hide from the chief." Krem's voice cut off the bard in the background as he sat with a bottle of beer in his hand. He had been so kind as to bring Dorian a drink. Some cheap wine that tasted like moldy hay, served in an ale mug.  
"I would be better off in the library, wouldn't I? I'd rather eat here than try to stomach what comes from those kitchens. If you can call them kitchens in the first place." Dorian chortled, taking the mug of wine. Who served wine in a mug, for Maker's sake! And yet, the first drink gave him a release, like a weight being pulled from his shoulders. It could have been the drink, or maybe the complaining. Either way, he immediately took another swig of the swill. "And I wouldn't hide from him! I'd rather fight him openly, if he's going to fight me."

"Not fighting that I'm worried about." Krem's voice was playful, almost teasing, in the same way that Iron Bull's voice was.  
"Oh, Ha. Ha." He responded, shaking his head with each false laugh. "Because, you know, Tevinters are known for sharing proclivities with Qunari. Trust me, we'd be more disposed to violence than whatever you're suggesting."

"But what am I suggesting...?" Krem seemed to like watching Dorian writhe and avoid the words almost as much as Bull did. Must have been all the times Bull talked about how easy it was, how funny it was, how cute it was to shake Dorian's confidence. Iron Bull must have shared a lot with Krem, more than he might admit to others.

"Oh, You're both brutes." Dorian noted, nearly halfway through his mug down as he heard the music change, oblivious to the large form looming behind him in the crowded tavern. He seemed much too concerned with the bottom of his mug as he lifted it, the bitter wine sliding effortlessly past his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> The next installment should be coming soon! I promise. Also, boo hoo Dorian, cry about it. I wonder how a Ben-Hassrath would help him with his issues? He. hehe.


End file.
